He shrugs.
I hate this for him. Kon should be happy. He’s a good person. To say he went above and beyond is like saying dancing en pointe is different to walking.
The stewardess begins an announcement about soon landing in London, and butterflies take flight in my tummy. I nearly miss seeing Kon shrug.
“I found my life,” he says under his breath, so softly I tell myself I imagined it. Because it’s such an odd thing to say.
11
KON
There are cars waiting on the tarmac as the ballerinas jostle and chatter and pour off the plane when we arrive back in London.
I take it in with a glance. About two dozen black SUVs surround the plane. My second-in-command has a tablet and is allocating dancers to drivers. Well. Bratva brothers. Henchmen. Some of them probably deserve the term “goon”, though that’s mainly Greenwich’s men, not mine.
I asked him to help with the transport for the dancers, since getting enough secure cars and planes at short notice is a challenge even for Harlesden.
There are a range of reactions. Some of the girls are still wary. Some are crying happy tears as they finally get through on the phone to their loved ones. Others are hugging their friends. They’ve all been given a new smart phone, and they’re breaking open the packaging and exchanging numbers.
Taylor was at the back of the plane with me, and I encourage her forwards with a polite hand gesture, and try not to remember how I used that exact same hand to stroke her clit and make her come.
She pauses at the exit, and looks up at me for a second as she passes me. My heart throbs like I’m a fucking teenager, except I was ice-cold and not like that at all.
Forty-three years old and this is the first time I feel like… The first time Ifeel.
From the top of the steps I watch as Taylor runs to her sisters, and as they catch her, I’m staring.
The most compelling view of all the emotional moments happening on the ground. I walk down, and before I’ve even reached the bottom one of my more junior men is there.
“Pakhan?”
I half-turn towards him.
“Vadik said to check with you about using this plane to fly to America. He thought that would be better than sending it south? And the customs officials are asking about passports. We could…”
He continues on, and I watch Taylor from the corner of my eye.
This might be the last time I ever see Taylor, and my heart aches as she’s embraced by her sisters. Her cheeks are shiny with tears when the older sister—Hayley, I think—partially releases her and allows the younger one to have her turn.
Taylor is wiry and strong, lean compared to her two non-athlete sisters, and I don’t know how I’m sure, but I imagine they must all feel the difference that years of dancing and being away from her family have wrought.
She’s with her people, that’s clear from the way the three brown-haired heads cluster together.
Pride blooms in my chest. This might be the first time I’ve done something really good.
I should be paying attention to the very real issues that bringing twenty-ish ballerinas back to London will cause, from the fact that Aleksandr will retaliate to the detail that none ofthem have passports, and I need to get them home. But instead, all I can focus on is Taylor.
Over her sister’s shoulder, Taylor holds my gaze, her eyes big and watery. For that moment, there’s a bleakness in her expression, like a person lost in a snowstorm.
“Do whatever needs to be done, money is no object,” I snap, and stride over to my second-in-command. I grab a phone from Vadik and head towards Taylor.
I can’t let her go without seeing her one last time. I will shatter from the cold if I don’t.
Cutting across the tarmac, I keep my eyes fixed on Taylor, like she might disappear if I lose sight of her for an instant.
“Harlesden.” Greenwich steps right in front of me, forcing me to stop with a hand on my arm. I was so intent on reaching Taylor, I didn’t even notice him.
I keep moving, trying to weave around the bulky mafia boss barring my way.
